


someone to you

by honey_pots



Series: i just wanna be someone to you [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Falling In Love, Kasnian Kara-centric, Sickness, Slow Burn, complicated feelings, slow burn?, vague science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_pots/pseuds/honey_pots
Summary: It is not the government who finds her first.--or, Kasnian Kara gets her own family, but some things stay the same in every universe.





	someone to you

**Author's Note:**

> it's my first time posting on this site, so hopefully, everything is in order. this is kasnian kara-centric, so commiecorp (?) is technically the main pairing. this also follows canon (more or less) up to s3, and then diverges at the start of s4. so, supergirl and lena are not in a very good place right now (cause, ya know, that's some good angst), and it may or may not be affecting kara's relationship with lena.
> 
> i do not know any russian, so if there are any mistakes, please forgive me. i used dictionary.cambridge.org for the english-russian translations, and i'd be more than happy to change/modify any of them should they be incorrect or in need of improvement. i also used the dictionary of kryptonian.info for the kryptonese.
> 
> the song for this fic is someone to you by banners. you can find me @pots-of-honey on tumblr. it's empty right now, but i swear i'm there. anyway, i hope you enjoy the read and let me know what you think!

It is not the government who finds her first.

She lands in desolate Kasnian wilderness, blazing toward Earth like a meteorite in gravity's clutches; she could not resist it. The impact is loud and large, only marginally softened by the snowdrift. The earth parts in her wake, crackles, and craters, and the winds seem to silence, drawn to a hush as the planet waits for her to move.

She lies there, slowly being blanketed by the snow reclaiming their home. She blinks slowly, a haze clinging to her minds like she's just awoken from a long slumber. She pushes herself up to sit, absentmindedly wiggling her toes and fingers in some subconscious instinct to check they're working.

The quiet is disturbed by distant barking. Her head snaps toward the direction it's coming from, but the wind picks up in that moment, drowning everything else in its presence. Despite the unfamiliarity she has with this place (with _who she is_ ), she stays put where she sits, pulling her legs up to hug to her chest, feeling just a tad vulnerable in the nude.

The fine hairs of her body prickle with energy, and she's alert suddenly, ears swiveling as she listens. It's faint, but she can hear. Footsteps trudging through snow, dogs sniffling to follow a scent; three dogs, one person. Drawing nearer and nearer until they're... right on top of her. She looks up to see a figure standing at the top of the bank she sits on. The dogs stand around them, forming a protective triangle while also peering at her cautiously. It's almost hard to see them with their pelts as dark as the sky behind them.

Her eyes lift from them to the person bundled in furs, wondering if she's supposed to be wearing some too. She looks back down at herself, naked with only blonde hairs for warmth. But she doesn't feel cold... because that's what she's supposed to feel, right? A frown tugs at her lips, confused because she doesn't know. She doesn't much of _anything_ actually.

It's a frightening thought.

Her breath comes out misty as she sighs, and that seems to attract the stranger. She watches, blue eyes looking but not afraid (of them), as they approach quickly, sliding down the slight slope down to her, and the dogs follow after. They rush to her, speaking in some tongue she doesn't understand and removing their outermost layer of furs to wrap around her shoulders.

It doesn't make a difference.

The fur doesn't warm her, but the obvious worry the stranger has for her does. They move to secure the jacket around her better (as best as they can when she's still curled up), then start removing their boots, hopping around a little to remain balanced. She puts them on at their gentle coaxing, and then they're urging her to stand, pointing at the way they came from.

She rises on, surprisingly, shaky feet, but they're there to steady her. One arm winds around her waist as they gently guide her to start walking. The stranger whistles, sharp and startling, and the dogs start heading back up the slope, leading the way. Their pace is a little hurried, but she keeps up easily.

At the end of their path is a cabin, wooden with a red roof and a puffing chimney. The stranger rushes her inside and sits her right by the fireplace, moving back and forth between there and another room. They return with clothing and thick blankets, handing them to her and then leaving again. She takes that as her cue to change.

It's a simple red thermal long sleeve and black leggings with fleece on the inside, inner clothing. Both stretch a little to mold to her body, but she feels better already no longer being naked. She wraps the thinnest of the thick blankets around her shoulders, placing the rest around on and her lap. She starts feeling the heat, and it's almost _too warm_ but… it's nice.

She takes the time she's been given to actually look around. It looks _lived_ in with bookshelves filled to the brim and spilling into piles on the floor; with two couches strewn with throw pillows and blankets; with a coffee table cluttered with tools and papers; with the slightly stained yet soft carpet beneath her. The room is warm, dyed in oranges and yellows from both the fire and lanterns.

It feels like home.

…

The stranger comes back, dressed down and clearly more comfortable (relieved) in the cabin. They're a woman— _Vera,_ she says in that language she doesn't know—wizened and greyed but sprightly with prominent laugh lines and a perpetual smile on her face. She is so… motherly, fusing over her like a mother goose. Her tone is scolding, and she's often talking about some _pnevmoniya_ , but mostly, there is concern.

It spoke in the way Vera was willing to catch frostbite just to help her; in the way she bundled her up and made her comfortable. It speaks in the way Vera tells the largest dog, _Roni,_ to _ostavat'sya na meste_ by her side in front of the fire; in the way she pushes a cup of warm liquid— _kakao_ —into her hands; in the way she presses the back of her hand to her forehead, checking for a fever; and in the way she tucks stray blonde hairs out of the way.

It all settles in the hollow of her chest like a neat little corner piece of a puzzle; the beginning of something new.

The beginning of her life.

…

For a time, she does not speak.

Vera teaches her Kasnian Russian anyway.

…

Vera gives her a name—hers: _Starikov_.

Then she tells her to choose another.

The elder tells her a number of names until—

 _Karen,_ she likes that one; it is the first thing she says.

…

Sometimes, Karen dreams. She dreams of a distant place with towering spires that refract the light of the red sun, giving them a crystalline appearance. She dreams in a language she does and does not recognize as her native tongue. She dreams of a woman with dark hair and dark eyes, who has a smile like the snow—bright and beautiful and deadly. She dreams of a man with dark hair and her eyes, who doesn't smile as often, but when he does, it is always at her or the woman.

She knows that they are hers, her parents— _ieiu_ and _ukr,_ some intuitive part of her mind whispers. And she knows, they are gone, feels the loss that coats the images of them heavily. She wakes to tears trailing her cheeks each time. But it is Vera, _mama_ , who dulls the pain with her comforting whispers and understanding eyes. It is Vera, and Roni, and Milo and Hana, who fill in the cracks that those dreams have taken.

Other dreams (memories), she forgets the moment her eyes flutter open. They are of red-brown hair and dark eyes; and hatred that turned to sisterhood. They are of warm sepia skin and a charming smile; the kind she would fall in love with _and_ fall out of love with. Of loose cardigans and a dorky grin—a kiss unexpected and _oh, this is so weird_. Of iridescent eyes—tempestuous in the way they shift from greens to blues and back again, and in the emotions that bled through, raw and vulnerable.

Those are the dreams she does not give chase to.

How could she, when she does not recall having them?

…

Karen spends most of her time in isolation there, only interacting her _mama—_ the first time it had slipped from her mouth, Vera had teared up, clasped her hands to her mouth, and said _I have not been called that in so long—_ and the elkhounds _._ There are a few times she takes trips to Mikhail when hunting is less than fruitful or they need something the woods cannot provide. Vera always makes sure she is thoroughly bundled, wrapping her in a fur cap and a scarf. She does not say why, but Karen knows.

She knows about the _Supergirl._

Joseph from the butchery is a huge fan and takes her head off about the hero. When she said she did not know who the Supergirl was, he had actually gasped, high and shrill, in offense. Then he'd shown her a picture (cut out from a magazine), and well.

It was a very surreal experience for her.

She stares for a long moment; takes in the way the American's hair is the same shade of blonde as hers, the way her eyes are same blue, the way her scar is in the same place too. Their faces are the same shape, their hands the same size, and on and on.

But there are differences too. Her shoulders are also broader—far more defined from all the lumber she's been cutting up. Her skin is paler, fawn without any tan as Kasnia is usually not without a cloudy sky. _And_ she doesn't have the same powers, right? She can hear better than humans (and she knows she's not human), and she doesn't feel the cold like they do, doesn't catch ill like them, but that's about it.

Right?

She comes home that day disoriented and lost. It is the first time she has questioned her existence. Because while she has no solid memories of her past, Supergirl has existed for nearly four years now. And Supergirl is still active, so she cannot be her. Then, then who is she?

The question rattles in her head like a bean stuck at the bottom of a can that just won't come out. It's maddening and _annoying_ as hell. But then she helps Vera cook dinner, sneaking off little bites for the elkhounds (that her mom _totally_ notices), and sets up the dining table. They sit together, enjoying their meal in relative silence, just enjoying each other's company.

That's when she knows the answer.

She is Karen, Vera Starikov's daughter.

(But even with her surety, there is still one part of her that fears she will never be her own person.)

…

The government comes eventually.

On that day, she startles awake to an unfamiliar man's voice in her ear. She shoots up from where she lies on the couch next to the fireplace—it had been a long fought battle to convince Vera to let her sleep there; she really likes the flickering lights of a lit fire—startling Roni who is all too attuned to how she feels. He lifts his head from where he laid at the foot of the couch, ears pricked as he tries to detect what startled her.

“ _This is the site?”_

“ _That's what the order said.”_

Two men. Neither from Mikhail.

“ _Nothing is here though?”_

A beat, then: _“There is a cabin not far. Let's search there.”_

That sends her into action, hurrying to the room Vera keeps as her own. Roni trails at her, a shadow in more than just the black of his fur. She knocks lightly at the door, three short one in quick succession and then two with pauses in between. Vera, for some reason or another she summed up as 'for emergencies,' had taught her a couple of patterns for a code.

The door opens a second later, revealing a frazzled Vera. It is the most not put together she has ever seemed with her grey hair in disarray and her slate blue eyes wide with alertness. Milo and Hana push through the door to join Roni.

“What is it, snowbird?”

“There are men coming.”

“You heard them?”

She nods and Vera curses low under her breath. Just then, harsh knocks rattle their door, sending the dogs barking in irritation. Karen commands them to _uspokoitsya_ just once, and Roni settles, the other two following his lead. However, the pace around the two women, hackles still raised.

Vera leads the way to the door, peeking through the window curtain and frowning at what she sees. She's still as she moves back, scrubbing a hand over her face. There is something very exhausted and fearful in her her expression when she turns to Karen. “Just follow my lead.”

The door is opened to two men, one around Karen's age and the other older. They both wear non-descriptive black uniforms with fur trimmings. The old is frowning, or maybe that's just his face, while the other offers a slight grin, appearing friendlier.

“Sorry to disturb you so late in the evening,” the older one says, his voice low and scratchy like he'd smoked one too many cigars, “but we had reports of an… anomaly nearby. The government sent us to check up on things. Have you heard anything?”

“No, I'm afraid not,” Vera says, smiling politely, and Karen shakes her head when the man turns to her.

“Do you mind if we… check inside your cabin? It's standard protocol.”

Instead of answering, Vera gently pulls her aside to let the agents in, who immediately take to inspecting the cabin's interior. Karen opens her mouth to say something but an elbow to her side—a gentle nudge that barely registers—draws her attention away. There is something Vera is trying to convey to her, a look in her hard eyes, that she cannot understand, but she trusts in her mother and keeps her mouth shut.

It isn't long until the agents realize there is nothing to find, but their steps are still lingering as they move to leave. They murmur together (nothing of note, just complaints of wasting their time) before heading back toward them.

“Okay,” the older agent nods, “thank you for cooperating.”

“Of course,” Vera smiles politely, “safe travels.”

He steps through while his partner pauses just in front of Karen. He smiles charmingly, just a half-smile that displays a dense dimple on his cheek. His green eyes are nice but not like—not like what, she doesn't know exactly. They're a good shade of green, but there is a lingering sense that she's seen better. But then something odd happens when she tentatively returns the smile.

His smile falters as confusion flickers across his face, blonde brows furrowing as he tries to place his thoughts. He seems to be looking at her more closely, and this time her heart wavers for a different reason. She tries not to outwardly show the nerves that are making her blood roar in her ears.

“Have we met before?” she shakes her head, resisting the urge to glance at Vera. “Are you sure? You look familiar.”

Karen opens her mouth to deny it, but she can't think of anything to say, so she shuts it lest she says something incriminating. A touch to her elbow, another gentle nudge, reminds that she is not alone

“Oh, she definitely hasn't,” Vera speaks for her, and her heart marginally calms. “She'd definitely would have brought home a man as handsome as you if she had.”

That seems to distract him as his shoulders square, puffing his chest out, and he visibly preens. The other agent calls to him, and his grin turns sheepish as he calls back. He waves as he goes, the door shutting behind him with finality as Vera leans back against it.

“That went well,” she mutters, low and more to herself. Her blue meets Karen's, and she softens as she sees the lingering anxiety on her face. “It's okay. They are gone now, little one.”

“But he thought he knew me! He must have—”

“Do not think like that,” she interjects gentle, walking up to talk Karen's face between her palms, gentle and motherly. “They are gone. They won't be coming back.”

“How can you know that for sure?”

Vera doesn't a solid answer.

…

They go back to sleep.

Well, Karen just goes to lie back down, listening as Vera's breathing eventually evens out, succumbing to her lack of energy. But sleep alludes her. She may not be Supergirl, but she is undeniably related somehow. She and her mom have never talked about it, have never even mentioned it in passing, but they both know it to be true.

And Karen had not been wearing her scarf and fur hat when the agents were in their home. Her face was exposed, so the agent thinking he knew her was dangerous, especially since he was with the government. And if he manages to place why she looked so familiar, she can imagine how everything can go down.

He will tell his superiors—maybe absentmindedly, maybe on purpose—that he saw a girl that looked just like that American hero, Supergirl. Blue eyes like the sky, blonde hair of gold, broad shoulders meant to bear weight. He could name all the similarities she knows they hold, and he won't name the differences because he was not paying attention to those. His superiors will exchange looks, and then they will put eyes on her and Vera.

And then they will find out she is not human.

And then they will take her from home.

And Vera will fight back which will not be taken well.

And then, and then, and then. It plays out like a horror movie, the fear-driven adrenaline pumping through her veins keeping her awake throughout the night, paranoia scattering the reasonable part of her mind.

She very nearly bites through her tongue when something wet presses against her cheek. It is Roni pressing his cold nose, concern and curiosity seems to shine in his eyes. He licks across the bridge of her nose when she turns to look at him face-to-face. She squirms away from his coarse kisses, but he follows the movement, even putting his forelegs on the couch to follow her. It tickles her, makes her _giggle_ , which makes it even harder to push the elkhound away.

The assault ends when she winds her arms around him. He takes that as permission to lay on her, and she grunts at the additional weight on her chest, especially when his pointy joints press into her. She buries her hands in his soft pelt (and knows there will be shed fur _everywhere_ ), enjoying the warmth that radiates off his body.

It is like Roni has removed the weight of her fears and then replaced it with the weight of familial love, grounding her to now and not later. She hears Vera's heartbeat, strong and confident, and Milo's and Hana's too. It is them, her family of four, that calms her.

She dozes off, heart heavy with love.

…

Five months pass, and suddenly, it's like her body fails her.

…

It starts innocently enough.

A faint tickle to the back of her throat, mildly annoying but easy to deal with. She merely clears her throat or drinks water and then it's gone. But then it starts lingering and stretches at her lungs, pulling coughs from her throat. The coughs than progress into hacking that leads to gagging; it feels like she's popped a lung when she finally settles.

The remedies and medicine she's giving never last long.

It doesn't take long for her coughing fits to come away wet, and _not_ from mucus. The fits leave her throat uncomfortably raw and take away her voice; she and Vera create their own kind-of-sign language. A temporary fix for their communication problems because they both believe her condition will get better. Well, so they _believed_.

She's just gotten weaker with each passing day, and the way her body is trying to dispel her insides evolves into other kinds of pain. It was alarming when she coughed up blood, and it's even more alarming when she breaks out into a fever. That's never happened before, not even when she sat nude in the snow (which Vera had told her she thought was from her succumbing to an extreme bout of pneumonia, but it was actually her being… alien).

Nothing helps.

Vera doesn't know what to do.

All either of them can do is hope, and hope, and hope.

…

Her fever breaks, but she is considerably weaker, can hardly keep down any food or drink. It speaks of hope and then lies in the same breath. She spends most days dozing, trying to escape the clutches of this illness through being unconscious. But that only worries Vera more, and she urges Karen to stay awake. She tries for her mom, to lessen the concern that weighs down her shoulders, but she usually fails and wakes to Vera's gentle prodding.

That is what happens when she is woken today, her mom's hope renewed tenfold because of the news she has.

“I had some students a few years ago when I taught in America. They were a brilliant pair, the kind that wanted to cure cancer and probably could... can,” she laughs a puff of air, not because the idea is funny, but because it is wholly admirable. “I have made a call to one of them. She will help.”

 _Why?_ she signs, really just vaguely draws a question mark in the air and tilts her head. _Why me, a stranger,_ is the whole question, and Vera catches on.

“Because,” and she smiles, fond yet sad, “she is good.”

…

The woman who arrives at their doorstep is beautiful.

It is so late in the evening and Karen is just waking from a nap when a soft knock ( _tap, knock, tap, tap, thwack_ ) against the door rouses Vera from where she's slumped on the other couch. She watches as her mom rises, sleep shaken off as she must recognize the pattern of knocks. She rushes to the door, only sparing a glance toward Karen to make sure she stays put, and she unlocks it.

She exchanges some words with the person at the door before ushering them in with a flurry of arm movements.

It's like an angle has decided to grace them.

The stranger has long black hair braided back, pale skin flushed by the cold, sharp features that could cut, and her eyes. There is no way she can just use one word to describe them. The shade of them hangs on a precarious balance of green and blue, shifting in the lights; iridescent and stormy. The woman's eyes slide over Vera's shoulder and settle on her, widening at the sight of her.

“You do not like so good,” the woman says, her Kasnian Russian enunciated perfectly with an accent that is wholly attractive.

Karen shrugs, offering a lopsided and dopey smile.

“She cannot talk right now,” Vera explains for her, and she nods along to the words, only half listening honestly, “and she's a little out of it. Weak from her illness.”

“I can see why you called me here.”

The stranger introduces herself to Karen as Dr. Luthor from National City, California. She talks a lot, to both her and Vera, explaining what she's going to do and why she's doing it; all about Karen, rather than herself. It serves to distract them from any nerves they have, a purposeful move on Luthor's part, Karen realizes as her anxiety lessens with each word. It is amazingly thoughtful. It sparks trust within her, trust for the doctor. That is probably on purpose too.

“I have a lab in town that I'd like to take you too,” Dr. Luthor tells her, looking her dead in the eyes, and Karen wills herself not to look away. “If that is okay with you.”

She glances at Vera who only looks back, urging her to make her own decision. She licks her chapped lips—a bit subconscious now that she's noticed how dry they are—and nods.

“Are you taking her now?”

“I would like to if she's not too weak to be moved,” then to Karen, “We could wait for you to fall asleep and transport you then,” she thinks about it, then holds up one finger. “Okay. Just, let us know if it gets too much, okay?”

That surprises her, how much Dr. Luthor seems to care for her and values her input. She nods though, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Vera and the doctor help her walk, both supporting her by putting her arms around their shoulders and literally bearing her weight. She can only drag her feet, weaker than she thought she was.

Dr. Luthor has a car outside. It will be the first time she's ever ridden in one, usually she walks to talk or sleds there, and there's nowhere else she goes that isn't nearby. The interior is leather that creaks as she's shifted into the back seat, and Vera makes to climb beside her before Dr. Luthor stops her. They talk lowly about something that seems to not sit well with her mom, but ultimately, she concedes to whatever the doctor is saying and steps back.

“I will be staying here, snowbird,” she glances at Dr. Luthor, tension bleeding away just marginally at the understanding look she finds. “You will be safe with the doctor, trust me.”

She nods, only able to simmer into her uncertainty as the door closes. She watches as her mom continues to talk to Dr. Luthor, their murmurs low. She _could_ listen in, but that expends a lot of energy and focus she does not have. She slumps into her seat, huddling into the blankets still wrapped around her.

Her sulking is interrupted by the driver side door being opening, and Dr. Luthor climbs in with a heavy sigh. They meet eyes in the rear view mirror, a moment that feels infinitesimal when it is really just a few seconds. There really isn't much there, but Karen suddenly _understands,_ understands why Vera is not coming with them.

Dr. Luthor is not sure she can help her.

And, at least with her mom away, that is one less heart that will immediately break if she fails.

That understanding blankets over them, suffocating but also freeing (to Karen who knows it will give her mom a couple more moments of hope). But it is a burden on Dr. Luthor too, a burden she chooses to carry. For her sake.

…

The lab spans across an entire block of apartment basements. Functioning apartments too; although, most residents apparently work for or with Dr. Luthor. There is an empty one with sparse décor but in possession of spare clothes and a clean bathroom. It will be part of their base of operations, but most of their days (and nights) will be spent downstairs, in the lab.

They're there now as she watches, hunched in on a stool, as the other woman wheels out a bed for her. She rushes back-and-forth between the lab and upstairs as she collects multiple pillows and sheets and blankets. Then she drags down another mattress. Karen tries to help, but the doctor pushes her toward the gurney bed, pushes her down to lay and covers her with several blankets.

She does not have the voice or strength to fight it.

“Get some rest,” Dr. Luthor murmurs, absentmindedly brushing stray blonde hairs away from clammy skin. Karen leans into the touch that falls away too soon. “The morning will be the start of a long process for the both of us, Snowbird.”

They both rest in the same vicinity and yet, there is loneliness that clings to them both.

…

Dr. Luthor only ever calls her 'Snowbird,' if she calls her at all. Karen realizes it must be because that is how Vera addressed her, the _only_ time she called her in the woman's company (and, in the calls they exchanged but she did not hear, Vera had only named her as 'Snowbird,' or the 'Red Daughter'). It was Vera trying to protect her (again), creating this persona that Dr. Luthor will not question.

It creates a barrier between them, one they are now mutually aware of.

Protection or not, it feels a bit like lying.

…

Dr. Luthor moves around the lab like it's her playground. She sets up a bed for Karen to lay on, fluffs up the pillows and pats down the sheets, urging her to relax while she works. The next thing she does is set up to take blood samples. There's hesitation to her movements that Karen doesn't understand, and then there is a murmur of surprise when the needle goes through.

“I didn't think that would work,” she murmurs but doesn't elaborate.

Blood taken, she hooks Karen up to an IV to get liquids into her system.

It chills her, which Dr. Luthor notices. She leaves the lab briefly to get more blankets from the apartments upstairs. _Clean,_ she reassures, and they're warm too. The IV improves her condition already, loosening the vice around her throat. Just enough to regain her voice. The first thing she says, voice scratchy but working, is: “I am Karen Starikov.”

The words, her voice, makes Dr. Luthor pause, pen hovering against her wrist where she's taking note of Karen's vitals. Green eyes look up slowly, wide with surprise before they narrow and harden.

“You shouldn't have told me that,” and she sounds angry for some reason.

“Why not?”

“Because – I'm a _Luthor._ ”

“What does that mean?”

Dr. Luthor sputters, “I – look, Professor Starikov gave me a different name for a reason,” _ah_ , so Karen had been right in her assertion. “She may trust me enough to ask for my help, but your protection – it's important to her.”

“That is true, but I trust you.”

“You don't even know me!”

“No, but I know you are good,” and the sincerity of her words silences any protest Dr. Luthor tries to come up with. “You have come to help me, even though you are not sure you can, yet you still try and hope. For a stranger, no less. How is that not good, Dr. Luthor?”

She opens her mouth to retort, only to come up with nothing. Karen can see the way her jaw works as she tries to muster up a response, _any_ response. And then she deflates, curls in on herself with a heavy sigh. It's so sudden that Karen momentarily thinks she said something wrong, but then Dr. Luthor laughs (a low thing that makes her skin break out into goosebumps), shaking her head with a sort of fond exasperation.

“Please, call me Lena.”

…

Karen still spends a lot of time dozing on-and-off, then spends her waking moments watching Dr. Luthor works. When she is awake and attentive, Lena talks. She talks about nothing yet it is everything because it reveals things about the doctor that she otherwise does not (will not) say.

It reveals that Lena is perceptive, always able to tell when she is feigning having energy. It reveals that Lena is caring, always urging her to put herself first, especially in these trying times. It reveals that Lena is an optimist (about the future of her company), always reaching for solutions around roadblocks. It reveals that Lena is _soft_ , smiling subconsciously as she recalls tales of her friends. Or friend (singular)?

She talks a lot about _Kara Danvers._

And always with a fond yet sad smile

“She's my best friend,” Lena explains when she asks more about the woman she frequently mentions. Her smile wavers then and her words come out hesitant. “At least, I think we still are.”

“You think?”

“Sometimes, I'm not so sure. There's like a… barrier between us, one that I thought we'd break down the more we got to know each other.” Lena shakes her head, slow like she's trying to shake off her sadness, but it clings to her like a shadow. “Our hangouts have been less than frequent, and even when we have them, they're usually cut short with some reason or another. I mean, it's not just on her part but…”

“Mostly, it is?”

“Yes. She's really bad at lying, or maybe I'm just reading too into things,” she says it so fondly like Kara Danvers can do no wrong.

“How long has that been happening?”

“Since we've met. Almost three years,” Karen fights to keep reacting negatively, but she must fail because Lena sighs heavily and puffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “I know, I know. I should probably talk to her about it. At least that's what my therapist says, 'communication is important.' But if I say the wrong thing, I could lose her. I don't want that. I'm just so…”

Afraid, scared, terrified, and all the other synonyms pop into Karen's head, finishing the sentence. But Lena surprises her, saying so lowly that she almost doesn't her: “I love her.”

And oh; that is far worse.

…

Lena never mentions Supergirl.

…

The first trial, not long after they've settled, is both a success and a failure.

It is a modified version of a serum with something Lena calls the _Harun-el._ The concoction only works for a brief moment and unlocks abilities she's never had. Super-strength, super-speed, x-ray vision, frost breath, heat vision. Her hearing is amplified too. Everything comes to her in one go, sending her into a spiral of panic as her vision sees through everything and her ears are invaded.

“Hey,” a voice, closer and clear than all the other noise, says. “Focus on me.”

She tries, she does, but all of her senses are being overloaded—she squeezes her eyes shut, clutches her ears between her hands. A touch, a brush of fingertips against her cheek, grounds her better, and the voice ( _Lena_ ) tells her to focus again. She leans into the touch, hones in on the way that Lena takes her hand and guides it. She presses Karen's hand to her heart, holds it tight so that she can feel the beat her heart tattoos through her chest.

“ _Breathe with me_ ,” Lena whispers right into her ear, the ghost of her breath sending shivers up her spine. She listens to the way Lena matches the pace of her harsh pants, gradually slowing the tempo. They inhale for _one, two, three, four_ then exhale the same. “Good, _”_ the doctor says, “you're doing so good. I've got you. I'm here, Karen.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing closer, and something inside her melts when Lena wraps her into a hug. She rests her head in the crook of her neck, no doubt smearing snot and tears against her collar. “ _Thank you_.”

“I've got you,” and this time, it's a promise.

They sit on the floor together until Karen has fully calmed and then some. They've maneuvered just slightly, with her practically in Lena's lap, trying to satisfy this urge to get as close as possible, to be held. It's odd, if she has the same abilities as Supergirl (if they are truly genetic matches), then she is an indestructible being; a god among mortals. Yet, she wants to stay here, in Lena's sturdy arms; vulnerable and undeniably _human_.

…

Lena scraps the modified serum, reworking the _Harun-el._

“The _Harun-el_ , you said it is a kryptonite?”

“It is.”

“And you made it?”

“Yes.”

The question _w_ _hy_ presses at her tongue but it dies there just as soon as it rises when she sees how stiff Lena has gone. Her shoulders have hunched to just below her ears, her posture slouching over, and she's almost curling in on herself. It reminds her of mischievous Milo, bracing himself right before Vera scolds him for one thing or another. (And that is exactly what Lena is doing: bracing herself for righteous anger.

It doesn't come.) Karen decides not to push, switching gears instead.

“They remind me of the jewels from the mountains north of _Kryptonopolis_.”

It is the first time she's ever told anyone about her memories of Krypton, about how she has them. Her words intrigue Lena greatly, for she puts a hold on her work to give Karen all of her attention. To have it, her entire devotion, sends the Kasnian's heart running.

“It's said that kryptonite is fragments of Krypton,” Lena murmurs almost absentmindedly, the information flowing easily like it's a 'fun fact' shared among friends. Then louder, almost like she blurts it out: “You have memories?” A flush settles on her cheeks at her own outburst, and she clears her throat, clarifying: “From before.”

“Yes, but they're brief moments. Hardly ever clear but enough to leave distinct impressions.”

“What about non-Krypton memories?” she shakes her head, “What about, um…”

“When it ended?” Lena winces sheepishly but nods. “I remember how _ieiu_ placed her necklace around my neck in our final moments together. How afraid I was to not know anything but 'we're sending you somewhere safe; take care of _Kal-El_ for us.' How, for a moment, _Kryptahn_ burned as bright as _Rao_ , and then collapsed. I saw it all…” she hesitates then, “ _Supergirl_ saw it all, but I think it weighs heavier on her than me.”

Lena doesn't ask why, or tell her 'I'm sorry.' Instead, she does something unexpected: she holds Karen's hand; caresses it gently, brushing the pads of her fingers against Karen's knuckles. It is the first time they have ever touched so casually, and it sends her heart skipping a beat. Her cheeks feel warm, and she ducks her head to avoid green eyes that _see too much_. She tries to keep Lena's attention off her flustered appearance.

“I have others memories too,” she mumbles, stuttering slightly when Lena squeezes her hand in encouragement. “Like the red waters of the _Cogo Sea,_ and how beautiful the spires of civilization looks in _Rao's_ light. A-and I have one of _ieiu_ telling me about the constellation I was born beneath; about how I was named in the honor of the ancient goddess those stars belonged to. She said it was an old tradition, and it's one that my parents chose to uphold.”

(She could, if Lena asked, say the goddess' name; reveal Supergirl's namesake.

But Lena does not ask, so she does not say.)

They sit together, Karen on her makeshift bed and Lena on a stool, talking. Well, Lena listens, and she listens actively, occasionally interjecting to ask questions for clarification or to point out similar experiences she's had. Karen rambles on and on, eventually transition into talking about her life with Vera and the elkhounds, talking about her family.

“I'm glad,” Lena tells her as they're winding done, “that Professor Starikov found you.”

“Why's that?”

“Because; it means you're loved.”

…

Lena's phone rings one day—for a CEO, her phone doesn't ring that often (because, and she doesn't know this, the phone is Lena's personal one)—and she has a double take when Lena sees the caller ID. There's hesitation to her before she squares her shoulders, looking like a warrior steeling herself for battle (or a CEO about to take on a board meeting), and picks it up.

“ _Hello? Kara?”_

The name surprises Karen, who looks up from where she'd been fiddling with the puzzle Lena gave (bought) her. Her ears twitch with the desire to listen in on the other side, to hear Kara Danvers' voice, but she doesn't. There's no way she's going to intrude on Lena's privacy like that. Whatever is said, though, sends surprise on Lena's face and green eyes flicker toward her.

She continues to say something in English then turns to Karen, sheepish, “Sorry, I should take this.”

“That's okay,” she smiles, and, much to her pleasure, Lena reciprocates immediately. She lifts up one of the pieces she has yet to place, waving it in the air. “I'll be here, still be stuck on this.”

Lena laughs, fond and happy. “You wouldn't be so stuck if you let me help you.”

“No,” she pouts and pulls all the pieces toward her like a dragon hoarding her gold, and Lena's smile only grows, “No hints.”

“Alright, stubborn, good luck.”

Lena waggles her fingers at her as she puts the phone back to her ear. Her voice is low, a gentle hum that blends in with the sounds of the equipment around them. Karen catches her saying _talking to a friend_ as Lena walks away to find a more private sector of the lab. _Friend_ settles neatly into the hollow of her chest, fitting but not filling completely, but it doesn't pain her like she thought it would.

The phone call does not last long, surprisingly, and she hears Lena sigh heavily as she walks back. She looks up from her puzzle—where she's still made no progress, not that she was trying at the moment—and sees the harsh furrow of dark browns. Lena is frowning heavily as she settles on a stool, looking adorably confused.

“Lena?” she looks up, meets blue and holds. “What's wrong?”

“Kara's in Kasnia.”

“Oh” and she fights a frown, and slowly says, “Why?”

“Following a lead, apparently,” she says it like she doesn't quite believe it. “A tip led her into the country, and she'll be here for a bit… she, uh, she wants to see me; 'catch up,' she said.”

Karen murmurs a non-committal hum, and they settle into companionable silence. She focuses all of her attention onto the puzzle in front of her, still not any closer to solving it and avoiding Lena's searching eyes. She can see the scientist watching her from her peripheral, a thoughtful and unreadable look on her face. Then the stool beneath her creaks as Lena shifts back.

“I just don't want to leave you,” blue eyes snap up, zeroing in the pink dusting Lena's cheeks (or maybe that's just wishful thinking). Her own cheeks warm.

“I will be fine, Lena,” she reassures, flustered and mumbling. “I would prefer if you didn't have any regrets, especially for my sake.”

A beat passes where Lena just looks at her; really _looks._

“Okay.”

…

Karen is alone the next afternoon, a pager— _do not hesitate to contact me, Karen; I'm serious—_ loosely clutched in her hand. It's the first time she's been alone since coming to the lab.

She does not think she is meant to be a solitary creature.

She hopes, selfishly but honestly, that Lena returns soon.

…

Lena comes back in the evening, pale and shaken. There are tremors that run through her body, making her hands too unstable to handle her equipment. She tries to work anyway, but Karen stops her with a hand to her arm, gently cupping around the elbow. The touch startles Lena, and she flinches away. The Kasnian drops her hand, hurt.

“Lena,” she speaks through her hurt, “what happened?”

For a long moment, it feels like Lena won't respond. They stand in silence, Lena hugging herself and wearing away at her bottom lip while Karen just waits, open and patient. Then, Lena sighs, the rush of air rattling her lungs and coming out shaky.

“Kara kissed me.”

“Oh,” and her heart twists, but she smiles through it (she doesn't really). “That is good, isn't it?”

Lena is silent, face pensive and her lower lip caught between teeth. Karen waits for her response, but when she gets none, her heart accelerates for a reason she does not understand. Her mouth is dry, lips chapped, and she wets them with her tongue. She wonders if she imagines it when green eyes follow the motion.

“Because you love her,” she prompts.

It breaks Lena from her stupor, her eyes unreadable as the meet sky-blue. “Yeah, I did.”

 _Did_ , and oh, what a dangerous tense to use. It sparks hope in her heart, and she immediately feels guilty for that. Because Lena had loved Kara Danvers, had loved her so much that she clung to her even as she was wholly uncertain of their relationship. Because Lena having _loved_ Kara Danvers meant she fell out of love, only to be kissed by the woman she thought her feelings were unrequited for. Because that meant Kara Danvers' heart must have broken.

Unbidden, she asks, “Did you – did you kiss her back?”

“It's all I ever wanted for some time,” Lena does and doesn't answer. “But now…”

“Now?”

Lena shakes her head, stepping away, and like that, her guard is up again and it's Dr. Luthor standing in front of her. But she seems calmer now, even if a tiny bit uncertain about her own feelings. She gently guides Karen back to her bed, hesitating just slightly as she turns to go to her work station. Over her should with green eyes flickering with too many emotions to decipher, she murmurs a genuine, “thank you.”

She doubts either of them get any sleep that night.

…

“I have an idea,” Lena says on another night where neither can sleep, and she's still working away while Karen's slumped in her bed. She looks up at Lena's words, but green eyes won't meet her curious gaze. The words rush out of her before Karen can even comprehend them, and they stand in still silence as the words sink in.

The idea? Lena's going to inject cancer cells into herself.

“Are you insane!?” she bursts, more awake than ever. Her hands twist into her sheets, and she wouldn't be surprised if she ripped them in half. “Why would you even _think_ to do that?”

“It will work.”

“You don't know that!”

“But I have to try!” she argues back, hands balling up into fists and her jaw drawing tight. “I have to try. If it works, I'll cure cancer _and_ as you. Two birds with one stone.”

“You can do both of those things _without_ putting yourself in harm's way. You don't have to punish yourself for your failures, Lena.”

The lab-coat clad woman walks over to her, placing her hands onto of her twisting ones and running her thumbs against taut knuckles. “Just – just let me do this for you, darling, please.”

Maybe it's the _darling_ , or the _please_ , or the combination of both, but it registers to Karen that nothing she will say will get through to Lena. She's already determined that she's going to do it, and she isn't asking for Karen's permission to proceed. No, she's just being honest. And really, Karen would rather have that than find out later.

“Right now, the cancer is mostly benign. I can _assure_ you,” she continues, squeezing her hands and smiling reassuringly, “I don't plan on dying just yet.”

She twists her hands, entwining their fingers and squeezing back. “You sure like to take risks, Lena Luthor.”

“What can I say?” she grins wickedly, raising one of their entwined hands and playful to her knuckles, causing Karen's breath to hitch. Her grin falters just slightly as she realizes what she's doing, but she doesn't pull away. “It's the Luthor genes in me.”

…

Infecting oneself with cancer cells must put a lot of pressure on them. It's evident in the way Lena works, being pressed to perfect a cure when it's two people she cares about (more or less with one of them, i.e. herself) are in need. With Lena sick, it gives her a more viable subject to work on (because she refuses to take more from Karen, even when she insists).

It also makes her impossibly more stubborn about taking breaks.

But Karen has dealt with stubborn in the form of Hana, who pretends she is hard of hearing when she actually has the best. So she does what she does with Hana when she doesn't listen: she plays dirty.

With Hana, that involved treats. But with Lena? She uses their bond.

She sticks out her bottom lip and looks up at Lena from her lashes, fluttering them, while asking her to _rest, for just one moment._ It works. Until Lena starts avoiding her gaze; even going as far as squeezing her eyes shut or sticking her gaze to a microscope. Karen groans when another attempt is foiled, and she swears that Lena smirks. She changes tactics to be more… tactile. Intimate.

The plan she formulates flusters her the first time she thinks of it. It will be the most brazen she's been when it comes to physical contact, but it will definitely knock Lena off course, distract enough to convince her to rest, to sleep because it is much too late for either of them to be awake.

She steps up behind Lena, close enough to ensure she knows she's there and can move away. She doesn't though, just looks over her coat covered shoulder. Karen slides her arms around her waist, loose at first, and Lena stiffens at first contact. She rests her chin on her shoulder, her nose just about brushing Lena's cheek. Slowly but surely, Lena relaxes into the hold, even puts her hands above Karen's. She tightens her hold, looking up at green eyes through light lashes.

“ _Come to bed, Lena,_ ” she whispers, and she internally thrills at the way Lena shivers. _“Please.”_

She wonders if it is there embrace (her front flush against Lena's back), or if it is the _please_ she tacks on the end that does it. Either or, Lena agrees and allows herself to be lead. She pushes Lena onto the mattress she's claimed as her bed on the floor, and then she follows.

Lena is tentative in their lying together, especially when Karen moves to hug her side. But when she nuzzles into the crook of Lena's neck, she absolutely melts, sighing as she does. That night, the two of them fall asleep fast than they have since coming to the lab. And they wake tangled in each other's limbs.

…

It is not long until Lena has a breakthrough.

…

The finalized serum cures both cancer and Karen. Well, it cures cancer and Lena's anti-cancerous blood and immune system cure her. When the transfusion ends, it's like she's breathing clean air for the first time (figuratively because the literal is not possible with all the pollution plaguing Earth). She smiles brightly at Lena, not only because she's healthy (healthier), but also because _Lena cured cancer!_

“You did it,” she says, pulling Lena into a lingering hug.

“I had good motivation.”

“Saving yourself, yes?”

“I meant you,” she chuckles, a low sound that resonates deep in Karen's chest. “But my dramatics did certainly help.”

“It was unnecessary,” Karen scolds, but it only makes Lena laugh again. She stern face breaks into a smile at the first hint of her laugh, beaming widely at the happiness that permeates the Luthor. Lena is so beautiful when she laughs. The sight of her steals Karen's breath away, and her voice is a little tender when she whispers, “You amaze me, Lena Luthor.”

Lena smile shrinks but softens with the fond look on her face. “You're quite impressive yourself, Ms. Starikov.”

And then she leans forward.

The kiss is clumsy on Karen's part; she rushes in too fast when she realizes what Lena intends, and their teeth clack. Lena rears back, hand to her mouth, and she stutters to apologize but there is no anger in green eyes, only a silent laugh that makes her irises dance. Lena shushes her by placing her hands against Karen's jaw, gently caressing and brushes her thumbs along her cheek. She guides her back into a kiss, tilts her head so that their lips slot smoothing. It is slow, chaste and lingering.

Karen sighs as Lena pulls back just a bit, only to press another kiss against her, and another, and another. And then there is a flick of a tongue, just a tease against her upper lip that sends her gasping in surprise, the sensation heightened with her eyes closed. Lena takes that opportunity to lick into her mouth, a tentative move that's testing her reaction. She moans, breathy and low.

She clutches at Lena's wrists, tracing up the length of them to entwine their fingers. She pulls so that Lena's arms hang over her shoulders and around her neck, moving her own hands to clutch around Lena's back to press flush against her. The American hums, smiling into their next kiss before sliding away and down her neck. Lena drops her arms to Karen's hips, slowly pushing and guided until her back hits something. She groans as she realizes Lena has pressed her against the wall.

She nips at the skin of her neck, the pain distant but the impression of her teeth on her skin sparks something low in her gut. Lena soothes over the skin with her tongue, then pulls and sucks her pulse point into her mouth. Karen gasps, her head lolling to the side to give Lena more access, and she subconsciously digs her nails into Lena's back, the sensation dulled through the layers Lena's wearing.

She shifts her hands, reaching around to go underneath Lena's lab coat and shirt, savoring the feel of her heated skin. She flattens her hands over her soft stomach, feels the muscles beneath flex at the touch before they relax with a sigh that puffs against her chin. The hands at her hips tighten their grip before moving up and under her own shirt.

Her movements falter as cool hands trace the planes of her stomach, scratching lightly and she breathes out a moan. Lips find hers again, a tongue sliding between her parted lips immediately. Both touches are exploratory and rip her attention in two. And then Lena rocks her hips forward.

It's a lot. Lena pulls moans from her chest with each rock of her hips, each scratch of her nails, each kiss of her lips. It's overwhelming in the best way, and she disengages from a kiss when Lena's fingers brush the bottom of her breasts. Lena, perceptive as she is, notices and slows down.

“Too fast? We can stop?” she murmurs, pressing a feather-light kiss to her jaw and her hands move back down to settle at her hips.

“No, no,” Karen pants, trying to catch her breath and come back down from the high she's in. “Just – need to catch my breath.”

She feels Lena nod more than she sees it, her eyes unfocused from all the hormones clouding her mind. The hands at her hips draw patterns on her hipbones, aiding in her journey back to earth. When her heart has slowed—not totally but considerably—she takes one of Lena's hands in hers, dragging it slowly to the waist of her pants.

“Touch me?” she whispers, preening at the gasp it illicit from bruised lips.

Lena nods, watching their hands as Karen guides her. But then, she re-tightens her grip Lena's wrist just as her hand is about to disappear down her pants, a passing thought making her pause. Dark eyes—the pupils so blown that the green is only a ringlet of color—snap up, concern once again overshadowing lust.

“I am not her,” she says, not naming but there is only one person that she could be talking about, and understanding dawns on Lena's face.

“No,” she says without hesitation, but her tone is far from malicious. She presses a kiss against her collar, smiling when Karen twitches. “She will always have a special place in my heart,” she admits, sad and fond; and then with more fondness than she has witnessed, she goes on: “But _you_ have it now, Karen Starikov. I am yours; if you want.”

There answer is easy and comes out like a sigh, breathy and desire-filled, “I do.”

She releases Lena's wrist, barely stifling a whine as cool fingers slide down, down, down into wet heat because _oh, yes,_ she definitely wants.

…

They spend their last night together having sex that bleeds into the morning. Both of them lie together, exhaustion clinging to their bones, but neither want to sleep just yet. They know they are on a timer; once the sun rises high in the sky, their time together will end. But time does not wait for them and marches on.

They clean up slowly, dragging in their footsteps as they put things away and lingering in the shower. It's the most alive Karen has felt since that day Vera found her. The thought of her mom, still waiting for news of her, steals her away from being on cloud nine.

She's going home. She's going home.

Lena drives them, holding her hand in silence. Karen plays with her fingers, massaging at the joints and tracing the lines of her palm. She flusters when her mind goes in a different direction, and she glances at Lena, flushing hotter when she finds green eyes looking at her.

“Shouldn't you be looking at the road?”

“I am,” Lena grins, her hand flexing in Karen's, “I can multitask.”

She snorts which causes Lena's grin to bloom into a full smile. It isn't long until they reach the cabin with the car, and Karen's heart is dividing. To be home again is a dream come true, but that would mean waking up from the one with Lena. Seeming to sense her trepidation, Lena twists her hand so that they're holding each other and gives a squeeze of reassurance.

Karen unbuckles her seat belt, shifting in her seat to face Lena over the console. Lena, as usual, is already looking, her gaze fond, wistful. It makes her heart race and break simultaneously. She doesn't want to say goodbye, but Lena has a life back in America and hers is here. She raises her other hand, caressing Lena's cheek, brushing her thumb along the cheekbone.

“Will you come visit me?”

“Of course,” Lena puts her hand over hers, entwining their fingers and turning her face to lay a sweet kiss on her palm. “And if you ever want to come to National City…”

“I would like that.”

“And the professor has my number so if you ever want to talk…”

“I'd love that – to be connected to you still.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighs, affectionate, “I'd love that too.”

They both lean over the console, their movements soft and tender as they kiss once more. Karen moves back slightly, tilting her head to get a new angle that has Lena teasing running her tongue against her bottom lip. She gasps, seeking out more, and Lena hums, pulling back. She chuckles lowly when Karen moves to follow, darting forward to place one more peck on her lips.

“Your mom is waiting for you,” she whispers against her lips.

And well, that only just manages to give her enough to pull back, but it doesn't stop her from pouting. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you too.”

Even with their parting words, they linger, savoring the other's presence. The sound of a door opening and dogs barking breaks them out of their stupor and they slowly pull away from each other. Karen glances out the window, her heart racing for a different reason at the sight of Vera and the elkhounds. Lena nudges her, “Go.”

“I – I'll call.”

“I'll hold you to that, Starikov.”

She laughs, “I might call you every day, you know.”

“Again, I'll hold you to that.”

“… I'll see you again.”

“Yes. You will.”

They both get out of the car, and Vera thanks Lena profusely (which flusters the woman greatly) before pulling Karen into a hug. She practically cries when she embraces her, the elkhounds hopping around them, just as ecstatic to have her back. Over her mom's shoulder, she can see Lena watching, a smile on her face. Their eyes meet for a final time, green moss on salty sea. She mouths 'I'll miss you,' and Lena's eyes turning glossy like she might cry and mouths the words back.

And then Lena goes back into her car, and then… she's gone.

No, not gone; just going home.

They'll see each other again.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Months later, Lex Luthor escapes from prison.

And Lena goes missing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> 'pnevomniya' = pneumonia
> 
> 'ostavat'sya na meste' = stay put
> 
> 'spasibo' = thank you
> 
> 'kakoa' = cocoa
> 
> 'uspokoitsya' = quiet down


End file.
